


Une Rencontre Fortuite

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Anal Sex, Frot, M/M, UST, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another longfic commission. The focus here is Enja, in which Ja'far goes to the Kou Empire on a diplomatic visit, all to better relations (and generally nitpick, as he tends to do). He finds Ren Kouen to be surprisingly good company, and from there, things take off... Mostly Enja, only hints of Sinja.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Une Rencontre Fortuite

At best, the Kou Empire is… _disorganized_.

 

It's odd that it would be, considering the amount of power it wields these days. Ja'far can tell such a thing even from the moment he arrives, however, considering the escorts are late, the general greeting party of officials all over the place, and… well. Ja'far finds himself biting his cheek by the end of it all, wondering why they didn't send a member of Sindria's parliament with more _patience_.

 

Of _course_ it had to be him, though. Of course.

 

If nothing else, he values a photographic memory, and this certainly is a way to learn quite a bit about Kou. It's _supposed_ to be a peaceful mission, and one to maintain piece, though Ja'far has never not looked at something like this in a manner that doesn't involve some level of espionage (and rarely has Sinbad, nowadays). 

 

That being said, it's hard to remain _peaceful_ when he's immediately introduced to a dozen Kou concepts, none of which particularly line up right and certainly none of which do their filing systems _any_ sort of justice. 

 

 _Don't criticize their taxation methods. Don't do it. Not just yet, you've only been here a few hours_. 

 

_Don't criticize their filing methods themselves, either._

 

_Why isn't very scroll turned in the same direction._

 

_How in the world do they find anything--_

 

"Is this your full-time job?" he finally, bluntly asks the Kou Empire's Second Prince, who just so _happens_ to be in charge of a large portion of this sort of thing. 

 

Koumei already doesn’t like Ja’far. Bad enough that he comes in, pale and tiny and certain he _knows everything_ , carrying himself like an assassin and looking at everything with disapproval. Worse that En is so interested before the man even arrives, granting him privileges never given to a guest. Worst, that the object of his critiques is the one thing Koumei is confident that he does _well_.  

 

“It was a mess,” he says abruptly. “It seems every year Kou triples in size. When I first came to the palace five years ago to help His Highness and Her Majesty, everything was set up for the governance of one small country. Now it’s an Empire. It’s a little patchwork, but I have a system.”

 

_And if you touch it, I’ll--_

 

Dammit, he knows he can’t do anything but smile (or at least, look dead inside and not openly give offense, no one seems too bothered by that).

 

"I see." Ja'far pauses, biting his cheek again for the umpteenth time before simply giving up. _Supposedly_ , he's here to offer his services, isn't he? It's a peacemaking mission, and every country that he's ever seen go up into the flames of war has been a _mes_ s. Kou, as far as he can see, _is a mess_. "… No system should be 'patchwork', especially with an empire of this size, though. Sindria has at least quadrupled in the past _year_ , and I can assure you, the only way to manage such a thing is to keep on top of an appropriate filing system."

 

Koumei opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Look,” he finally snaps, folding his arms inside his sleeves, “the only reason they sent me to greet you is that I’m the highest ranked except His Highness and Her Majesty. It isn’t because I’m skilled at diplomacy. You don’t want to work with me, trust me. And I won’t let you touch anything if I’m not here, I’ll never find anything.”

 

Ja'far stares at him, eyebrows raised. "How do you find anything _now?_ "

 

“I--” Koumei’s hands tighten, jaw twitching. “It’s more like archaeology,” he finally complains, shoving his hair out of his face with a huff. “The yellow scrolls are left over from the last archivist, who _hated_ the job, the black-handled ones are reports from outer provinces where they use treated oak--that’s why some are facing that way, otherwise I can’t see the knobs--and the crisp white ones are inter-palace memos. It’s a disaster.”

 

"… Then make it less of a disaster." It should be the most obvious thing in the world, really. " _Look_ ," Ja'far says, just shy of mocking Koumei's previously irritated retort, "I am here as a political gesture from Sindria, to be friendly and _nice_. _Nice_ is making sure the Kou Empire doesn't go up in flames because of faulty paper filing, don't you think?" 

 

At that moment, a quick knock sounds, and Koumei huffs, opening the door to allow two men in, each carrying a sack stuffed with scrolls, sketching a quick salute before leaving. “Every time I try,” he says miserably, “I get something else like this. Every twenty minutes or so. It’s all I can do to make sure _I_ can find everything, and I have a photographic memory. I can’t trust an assistant to do it right.”

 

Ja'far heaves a sigh, letting his head drop forward. "Then our countries have that in common, at least. I am hardly an _assistant_ , however. Why not let me help you organize this mess once and for all, and then if you _do_ require an assistant, it won't be so taxing for their less-than-capable hands?" 

 

Koumei looks from the bags to Ja’far, then back. “Deal.” 

 

It isn’t until hours later when the bell tolls for supper that he jumps, blinking owlishly. “Oh. I was, ah, supposed to take you to His Majesty. Er….” He looks at Ja’far’s hands, then passes over a small bottle of oil. “Among other uses, it’s quite good at removing inkstains.”

 

Ja'far merely _looks_ at him, and after those words, sort of gingerly takes the bottle in question. "Thank you." _I think_. "Though this would hardly be the first time I held audience with a king covered in ink."

 

Koumei bites his lip. That certainly does _not_ sound intriguing, he tells himself sternly. Oh well, his robes are huge and loose and hide everything. “Ah, I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, Milord. His Highness is merely a prince, not a king.” _Not yet._

 

"Ah, my apologies. Sometimes it's hard to remember that, what with how little we see of your emperor." _And with how Judal speaks of Kouen, whenever he arrives to harass us._ "That being said… the same applies for princes, as well," Ja'far wryly replies, nevertheless rubbing away as much ink from his hands as he can. Ah, well. It's a sign of hard work, if nothing else.

 

Koumei nonetheless pulls a handkerchief out of a pocket, wiping it thoroughly over his own hands to strip them of the ink, then does the same to Ja’far’s. “Oh, there’s also food. I forgot. I do that.”

 

"Likewise," is Ja'far's sigh as he rises. "Living off of tea is generally much easier, anyway."

 

"No wonder you're both so skinny."

 

Ja'far's eyes swivel to the doorway, where Kou's third prince just happens to be lingering--or leering, more accurately. Dear god, but this family is _strange_ , judging by what he's seen so far. "Meiii, you've really got to get better about this. You know En doesn't like being kept waiting, and he wants _so badly_ to meet with Sindria's ambassador, here." 

 

Koumei’s eyes narrow slightly. “Milord Ja’far, may I present the Third Imperial Prince, Ren Kouha? And would Ren Kouha care to present himself properly and refer to his brothers by their proper titles in front of our esteemed allies?”

 

It's actually astonishing, how deep of a pout the boy manages. "Soorrry," is the grumble underneath his breath before clasping his hands and giving a short bow. "Ren Kouha, the Third Prince of the Kou Empire. It's an honor to have you here within our palace walls." 

 

"The honor is mine." Truthfully, it's a little jarring to see any sort of _actual_ royal decorum, considering how lax Sinbad himself is within his own country. "And the last thing I want to do is keep His Majesty waiting any longer, so…"

 

Koumei gives his brother a secret little smile as he nods, bowing deeply. Amazing, how much more formal he becomes when he needs to be something of a role model. “Of course. Please follow me, I--Kouha, is His Highness in the Dining Hall, or his private chambers this evening?”

 

"His private chambers." Kouha shortens his stride to keep a pace behind his brother, trying very, very hard not to eyeball Ja'far too openly. He fails. "… Hey, how old are you?"

 

This question, always. "25."

 

Kouha gapes. "No way! You're the same age as Mei--er, Koumei, but you're _tiny_ \--" 

 

“Which I hope you will be generous enough to take as a compliment,” Koumei interrupts smoothly. “I ask your pardon for my brother, he’s very young and inquisitive. Please follow me.” He lengthens his stride for a few steps, then slows again. Ugh, whose idea was it to put so many stairs in the palace, anyway?

 

"It's fine, really," Ja'far wryly replies, honestly unfazed. Really, after the company he regularly deals with in the other _generals_ , Kouha is nothing. 

 

"… You even have _freckles_ like Koumei does--is that an accountant thing, I wonder?" 

 

“Yes,” Koumei says dryly, not quite noticing the way he starts leaning a shoulder against the wall as he walks. “Maybe they’re flecks of ink that got stuck there.”

 

Kouha squints. "But that would wash off, eventually… ah, Mei, you're tipping." 

 

 _This family is utterly bizarre_ , Ja'far settles on, subtly taking a step to the side lest Koumei sort of tip over in his direction next.

 

Koumei’s face darkens. “Where are my servants?” he asks irritably, straightening his stance. “They’re a lot easier to lean on. Oh, never mind, we’re almost there.”

 

"You can lean on me!" Kouha cheerfully offers, sliding up close to let Koumei do just that. "Ahh, but here we are! En's been--er, I mean, His Majesty's been really excited about your visit, so he should be in a good mood."

 

 _Probably because he's thankful for the free labor_ , Ja'far dryly thinks, starkly reminded of the cramps he still needs worked out of his hands. "I'm glad to hear that. Thank you for your hospitality, both of you." 

 

Koumei bows, and straightens slowly with a groan, resting an arm around Kouha’s shoulders and holding him gratefully close. “And thank you for your help. I hope to work with you again in the future.”

 

Watching Kouha happily lead Koumei away is probably only the beginning of _odd_ , if Ja'far has to guess. 

 

Whatever. As if he has any room to talk, considering the things some of Sindria's 'esteemed generals' do. Ja'far dismisses it all with a shake of his head, and rubs a last bit of ink from his palms before he knocks. 

 

The door opens promptly, as if the person behind it had been waiting patiently for the knock. Ren Kouen, robes crisp and pressed, beard extremely combed, looks down at Ja’far before giving him a low bow of welcome. “Milord Ja’far, advisor to the King of Sindria, I presume. You are most welcome.”

 

Ja'far isn't sure what he expected, but it isn't quite _this_.

 

He's only seen Ren Kouen a handful of times, if that, and always from a distance. Sinbad has had far more dealings with the man directly, and after dealing with Koumei all day… well. At least the man seems a bit more put together, if nothing else. "King Sinbad sends his deepest gratitudes for your hospitality during my stay," Ja'far replies, bowing deeply in return. "And I as well--thank you for allowing me into your beautiful country." 

 

Ah, this _is_ a surprise, and a most welcome one. Kouen had been expecting something more along the lines of King Sinbad’s other retainers, the loud one from Heliohapt especially, and would be lying if he’d said this quiet, unassuming man with an air of peaceful confidence wasn’t a pleasant surprise. “The honor is ours to have you. I’ll send a messenger tonight to assure your king of your safe arrival. Tomorrow, if it pleases you, a tour of the Palace, then the city. I will be your guide, unless you’d prefer another.”

 

"What better guide than Kou's First Prince?" Ja'far lightly returns as he straightens. "That would be most enjoyable, thank you. In the meantime, I have been assisting your brother in archiving, I hope you don't mind; I merely like to stay busy." 

 

“Not at all. While you’re here, consider nothing off-limits, save closed council meetings.” Kouen straightens himself, then says, “If you’ve been with Koumei all day, I doubt you’ve eaten. I can have a private supper sent for you, if you like.”

 

"Ahh, then he does have a reputation for such things after all," Ja'far wryly notes. "So long as it's no inconvenience, I would appreciate that." 

 

“No trouble at all.” Kouen hesitates, then offers, “Shall I have it sent to your room? Or perhaps if you’ve indeed been with Koumei, you would prefer some company? I haven’t eaten either.”

 

"Your company would be an honor, Your Majesty. Though… I must warn you, I'm something of a boring dinner partner." 

 

Kouen smiles. “I’m accustomed to the company of my brothers. Boring would be a relief.” He makes for the door, opening it to let Ja’far through, and signals a nearby servant. “Have two suppers brought to my chambers immediately. If you would follow me?”

 

"… I met your youngest brother as well," Ja'far allows after that particular statement. Really, he's not sure what he expected, but being invited to a private dinner isn't among anything he had in mind. It's not a _bad_ thing, for sure; bringing reports back about the Kou Empire's relative pleasantness will be a good thing indeed. "He's… certainly full of energy." 

 

“Mmm.” Kouen makes a noncommittal noise, thinking of some of the less _savory_ pursuits that energy had been turned toward. “He is that, if anything. But tell me, did you have a pleasant journey? I understand the seas can be treacherous this time of year.”

 

"It was… as pleasant as I could hope for." Best not to say he spent most of his time clinging to a railing and trying not to heave up his entrails. "Unfortunately, I am hardly so gifted at sailing as my king, and any time spent on the ocean tends to… not sit well with me." 

 

“Ah, me as well.” Kouen gives him a rueful smile. “I tend to let my brothers do the traveling. Well, Kouha, at any rate. There are times when it pays off extremely well to be involved in the running of a country with one’s family, division of labor and trust and the like.” He opens the door to his chambers, giving Ja’far another small bow. “Please, after you.”

 

A nod of thanks, and Ja'far steps past him and inside. It's honestly a _relief_ to have someone that seems to have a half-way decent head on their shoulders and isn't utterly and completely _strange_ (read: Koumei). Then again, he probably shouldn't assume too much just yet. "You've done a good job with your country thus far," he simply allows. "In so few years, it's become quite… formidable." 

 

The servants work quickly; by the time they step inside, a full meal has already been spread out, and Kouen sits, gesturing for Ja’far to do the same. “It’s an immense challenge. I am fortunate that my father and now stepmother have given me so much responsibility. Forgive me, do you take wine with your meal? It disagrees with my stomach, but I can have some brought for you.”

 

"I'm quite fine with tea, thank you." God, and Kouen doesn't even like to _drink_. For a moment, Ja'far contemplates threatening Sinbad with such news and offering to stay for much longer if he doesn't stop curling up with a bottle nearly every night. "… At least you seem to be making as much of your position as possible. I have seen many royal families far less prepared in the face of change, especially after the tragedy with Kou's previous emperor only few years past."

 

Kouen inclines his head briefly. “As have I. That was the driving incentive behind making certain we were prepared, especially my brothers and I. Merely being _royal_ has never been enough for me. From those to whom much are given, I’ve always felt, much is required.” He takes a sip of sweet lemon-water, and says a quick prayer before tucking into his food.

 

"… Hearing that, it's hard to believe that you and King Sinbad have yet to form some sort of an alliance, You Majesty," Ja'far carefully replies, starting in on his own meal. "Believe it or not, but I think the bulk of your ideals are quite similar." _Save for the elephant of Al-Sarmen in the room._

 

Kouen’s smile thins. “Perhaps. In due time. And I must remind you, of course, that just because the First Prince of the Empire is content to believe certain ideals….well. That doesn’t make them Kou Empire sentiments, exactly.” _Though it will, and soon._

 

"Mmn. We all have someone to answer to, I suppose. If it eases your mind at all in the mess of things, I will be forward--Sindria is very intent on remaining a peaceful nation," Ja'far mildly returns. "Sending his favorite paper pusher and not one of his military strategists should be an indication, I hope."

 

“One would think,” Kouen agrees, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Then again, one hears things about the Sindrian King’s ‘favorite paper-pusher,’ as you say.”

 

Ja'far snorts at that, taking a delicate sip of his tea. "And from your Magi, we've heard many things about you. It's funny how gossips can twist things." 

 

Kouen raises his class in acknowledgment. “You make a fair point. Am I to understand that you cannot throw your own blood like strings, cutting throats in a heartbeat?”

 

It's actually difficult not to choke on a laugh at that. "That sounds like something from Sinbad's books. Have you been told that I have horns and breathe fire as well? That seems to be the most common one." 

 

Kouen’s lips crease in a brief smile. “I’ve heard that, yes. Forgive me, but it does seem he took quite a bit of, ah, _license_. Not to say you don’t seem awesomely fearsome in your own right, of course.”

 

"You flatter me," Ja'far dryly replies. "I can assure you, my days are far better spent with my hands covered in ink than slinging blood about. And you, far less… villainous, than Judal would like my king to believe." As if he ever believed the brat's whining, anyway. Judal is the prince of crocodile tears.

 

“Ah, well, I do think we can perhaps agree to take much of what Judal says with a grain of salt?” Kouen asks, raising one eyebrow. “Else I’d have more than enough reason to march on Sindria by dawn.”

 

"If you think I believe a word out of his mouth, you'd be sorely mistaken, Your Majesty. Save your armies for another day." Ja'far takes another bite. "Another kingdom, preferably. Sindria's location would truly be beneficial for your trade routes, you know." 

 

Kouen pops a grape into his mouth, chewing slowly. “I think I could be persuaded to work something out. You have a way of making things seem….eminently reasonable.”

 

"So long as the people we are working with are reasonable," Ja'far easily returns. "You'll find Sindria a very relaxed country to deal with. There is a reason why our king has the support of so many nations, you know." 

 

“The people we’re working with…” _You’ll do whatever I need you to, won’t you, my beloved son?_

 

Kouen forces a smile, tugging a little at his beard. “All we can do is hope that reason will prevail, is it not so?”

 

A pair of slim eyebrows arch, and Ja'far leans back, sipping slowly at his tea. "Indeed. We can only hope." 

 

Wine or no, Kouen finds himself more and more relaxed as the evening progresses, even after the meal is long since devoured, leaning back in his chair. “I must say, speaking to you is more relaxing than I’d anticipated. Do you often act as such a balm to the nerves?”

 

One good thing about Kou, Ja'far decides, is they _do_ have good tea. It would behoove them to import more of the stuff, assuming all negotiations go well. "I've been told that," he wryly offers, taking a sip from the cup cradled in both of his hands. "At least, around pleasant company. I have a rather low tolerance for stupidity, I have to admit."

 

“Another thing we would seem to have in common.” Kouen watches Ja’far for a long moment, then finally asks, “How did someone like you wind up working for someone like Sinbad? I would think, having met you, that he would drive you insane.”

 

"Oh, he does." Ja'far heaves a light sigh, shaking his head. "But there's a difference between stupidity and his… hyperactivity. He simply enjoys being in the middle of things, meeting new people, going places… there's no stupidity in that, no matter how his actions can be rash. And more than anything, he values his people. That's the important part." 

 

“Many kings value their people,” Kouen points out. “Few of them have followers so loyal as I’ve seen of Sinbad’s. Tell me….” His eyes trail down to Ja’far’s hand, fingers gently resting on the handle of his tea mug, and back up to his face. “Does he value you?”

 

Ah, this part.

 

Ja'far doesn't quite understand _why_ , but at any point that _he_ is the one sent out to work on foreign missions such as these, this always happens. Perhaps that's why Sinbad rarely sends him nowadays. Ja'far's lips curve, his head tilting slightly to the side. "With all due respect, Prince, but is that a solicitation? I am sure you have a dozen advisors as capable as I." 

 

“I could doubt that,” Kouen mutters, thinking of some of the stacks of paperwork he’s been handed completely jumbled and instructed to put back exactly as it had been. “And far be it from me to attempt to undermine King Sinbad by trying to entice his advisor away with extravagant promises of wealth. I was merely asking whether you feel your abilities are fully realized when you act as, the way you put it, a paper pusher.”

 

"He entrusts Sindria's parliament to me… I believe that counts as some value." Another, careful sip of his tea, and Ja'far offers Kouen a small shrug. "Why? What would _you_ ask of me, if I served _your_ empire?" 

 

Kouen raises an eyebrow, and pours them each another cup of tea. “An Empire is larger than any one kingdom. You could be a governor of an entire nation, if you wanted. Doubtless a mind like yours would welcome a challenge of that magnitude.”

 

"A very generous offer, but I have no desire to lead," Ja'far points out. "My specialties are far more at home behind a closed door." 

 

Kouen sucks in a breath harder than intended, eyes widening slightly. Then he clears his throat, and says slowly, “That could be arranged.”

 

A slow blink follows. It takes Ja'far a moment to really process what _that_ reaction was for, and when he finally gets it--oh. Damn. How does one back out of that unfortunate phrasing? God, he's spent far too much time around Sinbad, hasn't he? "… That came out a little… unintentionally lewd," Ja'far manages with a nervous laugh. "In _that_ regard, I can assure you there's little talent to be had." 

 

Kouen coughs discreetly, taking another sip of tea when his cheeks start to heat up. “My apologies for taking it that way. I, ah, misunderstood.” And can only hope Ja’far won’t take it as an insult to his king. “I do hope you weren’t offended by my acceptance of what I thought was an offer.”

 

"No, no, it was really my fault, there's no need to apologize," Ja'far hastily replies, waving a hand in dismissal. "It was my fault." Ah, but Sinbad would probably find this _terribly_ amusing. Ja'far downs back his own cup of tea a bit too quickly. "A-anyway, what I _meant_ to say--I'm far more suited behind the scenes, as I'm hardly a ruler of any sort. I tend to get a bit too frustrated with people; I honestly don't know how Sinbad, or a prince such as yourself, deals with so many persons day in and day out." 

 

Kouen exhales hard, seizing gratefully to the change of subject. “One adapts, when one is forced into certain situations. As a child I was hardly a sociable sort, but the needs of the empire far outweigh my own personal discomfort with such things.”

 

Ja'far slowly nods. "Then… forgive me for asking, Prince Kouen, but--how far does your 'personal discomfort' come into play regarding Al-Sarmen?"

 

Kouen’s eyes tighten at the corners, but his face betrays no other signs of tension. “That….is a long story, and it neither begins nor ends with me. And in the interests of diplomacy, I beg your leave to say nothing further on the subject.”

 

"… I just think it something of a shame, when your empire is full of those capable and led by those such as yourself, that such an organization is still milling about," Ja'far softly returns, inclining his head. "But that is the last I will say on the subject, if it pleases you." 

 

Kouen nods, not entirely satisfied (he rarely is, when the conversation turns that direction) but mollified, for the moment. “We do what we must. If we are decent men, that is what we believe to be right. Do you think your king feels thusly?”

 

"Make the addition of 'what is right for our people' and that sounds about right." Ja'far's eyebrows raise. _You realize it, don't you? That Al-Sarmen cares nothing for your country's people._ "He's a rather self-sacrificing sort, at the end of the day. It's very troubling and hard to keep up with a king like that."

 

“I wouldn’t know. The Kou Empire, as I’m sure you’ll discover soon if you haven’t already, has little use for such kinds of people.” Kouen sips his tea, leaning back. “Though I’m sure they have their uses.”

 

"You think it a weakness. I can't say that I don't agree, but… in ruling a country, it can be an asset." 

 

“Then perhaps when Kou is mine,” Kouen says softly, “I’ll find out something of the sort.” He looks up, and gives a small, rueful smile. “My apologies. I’ve kept you far too late, you must be exhausted from your trip. I fear I could keep speaking all night to you, when it’s so easy.”

 

"It's really no problem at all," Ja'far reassures him, though he leans forward to set his teacup down all the same. "Though I daresay if you want an early start in the morning, it is you that should be retiring. I won't keep you from sleep any longer." 

 

Kouen bites down the brief, irrational impulse to ask Ja’far to stay. “I’ll have a servant show you to your rooms.” One appears as he says it, melting out of the shadows in the doorway. “Until tomorrow, then.”

 

Ja'far really could do without those sorts of _servants_. Nevertheless, he nods, turning to follow on their heels. "Sleep well, Prince Kouen." 

 

~~

 

 

Ja’far is hard to read.

 

That’s hardly new for Kouen; most of the members of Al-Sarmen are the same, few of them showing their true colors on any day, let alone to him. With someone like Ja’far, the great mystery of it seems to be not that he’s good at concealing his emotions, but that he _doesn’t_ seem to be concealing malice. He’s reserved, it seems, simply because that’s the way he is, and not as a result of decades of careful, strict training.

 

It’s fascinating.

 

So perhaps, in an effort to get him to open up a little, perhaps just because he wants to, Kouen takes it upon himself to be bold. Flushed with the success of a good city’s tour, intrigued, enchanted by his company, he asks quietly, “Would it be all right if I offered you something?”

 

If there's one thing about Kou that Ja'far thoroughly dislikes, it's the heat. 

 

Sindria is bad enough, but at least it's _humid_ there. Here, it's a dry heat, enough to make him want to keel over at the best of times, though Ja'far thinks he does a good job of concealing that save for the flush on his cheeks and the beading of sweat over his brow. 

 

… And maybe the fact he's in the process of tying his keffiyeh up into a knot to keep the vast majority of its weight off of his neck. 

 

Ja'far blinks over at Kouen, far from entirely certain at what he could be getting at. "… By all means," he hazards, finishing the knot as neatly as he can and then sagging back. Ah, he'd almost have preferred walking to a carriage, even after the extent of this long day. 

 

Kouen tries to remind himself it’s not proper to stare at a man’s neck for so long, tries to ask himself why he even _wants_ to, but the oddly erotic motion of baring just that much skin renders him almost breathless. He recovers, barely, and asks, “Improper as you may find it, I’d like to offer you my company tonight.”

 

Ja'far blinks again--slower, this time, and he does have to wonder if that's an invitation for… what he thinks it is. "… Like last night, Your Majesty?" _No, not like last night, obviously_. "O…r…" Ja'far really has to wonder how he brings this _about_ (and how to stop it).

 

“Like last night,” Kouen allows, “only more intimate. Only if you want to.” Ah, he shouldn’t have offered, he has no idea how such things are considered in the man’s homeland (isn’t even sure what his homeland _is_ )-- “I don’t know about where you come from,” he explains, “but here in Kou there is no shame in such a thing. Unless, of course, both parties are not willing.”

 

 _Where I was_ born _, you'd probably be killed for such a thing._

 

 _Where my_ home _is, I can hardly say anyone would care, except--_

 

There's something to be _said_ about going to bed with one's potential allies (or enemies, as it may have it). Isn't that what he came here to do, in all actuality? Perhaps not _literally_ , but… 

 

"… I'm flattered." He would be, if he really understood why anyone _bothered_. Especially royalty, or to-be royalty, and ah, Sin would probably be a mixed amused and jealous over this, Ja'far miserably thinks. It's _terrible_ , that he can look at Kouen and see so much of the other man, albeit an edge colder and more awkward and, well, maybe that's a little bit of _himself_ , at the worst of times. "But I… surely, you have a dozen better choices than I…" Ah, yes. If this stumbling around the issue is any indication, then they both definitely have a bit of that in common.

 

It’s not quite assent, but it isn’t rejection either--possibly. Kouen reaches out a hand, takes a liberty he probably shouldn’t, and runs a finger up the back of Ja’far’s neck. “You intrigue me,” he murmurs, voice a little breathy. “I find you attractive, and I’d like….I’d like to seek pleasure with you.” That sounded a _lot_ smoother in his head.

 

Ja'far swallows hard. Surprisingly, Kouen's touch is rather cool--the markers of poor circulation, but whatever, Ja'far will take _anything_ that soothes away this heat. _There are a dozen advantages to this_ , he tells himself. _A dozen advantages, and nothing but disadvantages should you refuse_.

 

… Never mind that he might be just a little bit interested, himself. 

 

He shivers, no matter that he's sure sweat is intent on gathering all the more between his shoulder blades, and manages a careful nod. "Even though I hardly fit the standard of Kou's beauty?" he can't help but quip, his laugh a somewhat anxious one. "Really, I hardly expected… ah, that's not an insult, by the way, Your Majesty."

 

“I have tasted of a Kou beauty,” Kouen says, smiling a little now. “More than once. Should I desire to do so again, it would be no great difference from the last time. But something like you….”

 

He swallows hard, finger brushing along Ja’far’s jawline. So soft, he probably never even needs to shave. “Something like you, I doubt I’ll ever see again.”

 

Ah.

 

Well--that's--… far less about politics, far less about stealing a foreign king's advisor away, and far more… personal. 

 

Ja'far finds he can like that quite a bit more, if the jump of his pulse is any indication. It's a little bit easier, when he isn't playing a political game in _bed_ (something he isn't good at, and wouldn't know where to begin, besides).

 

"… His Majesty is far too flattering," Ja'far wryly replies, and he lets his head tilt into Kouen's touch, just a bit. "And gives me far too much credit." 

 

Kouen lets out a short chuckle, the rest of his hand coming to rest on Ja’far’s neck, sliding slowly down one arm. “Learn to take a compliment.”

 

And before he can lose his nerve (and when had _that_ been a concern of his, anyway), he leans in and kisses the other man hard, hand tightening on his shoulder.

 

Ja'far _wants_ to protest that he's _never_ good at taking compliments (even in his actual work, he's shoddy at best), but then Kouen's lips are on his, the not-so-subtle press of his weight leaning in close sort of _nice,_ and the heat is soon a far lesser concern than the shortness of his own breath.

 

 _So much for 'company tonight'_ , Ja'far thinks, though he can hardly just blame _Kouen_ when his breath hitches in his chest and his lips part obligingly, one hand blindly grasping at the front of Kouen's robes. He doesn't taste like wine-- _that's_ a new one.

 

The fact that Ja’far neither pushes him away nor flinches from his touch like a frightened girl is good, better, reassuring Kouen that this hadn’t been _stupid_. He deepens the kiss, sucking at one of Ja’far’s lips, shifting forward and trying not to just yank Ja’far onto his lap, one hand sliding down to press in at the small of his back, pulling the slight weight of him forward. “Forgive me,” he murmurs, “for not waiting.”

 

"It's fine. Though I can't help but think this is a scandal waiting to happen," Ja'far mutters underneath his breath, lurching forward with the press of Kouen's hand, no matter his own brief, lingering hesitation that makes him want to peer out of a window and make sure no one is having a look inside. With a soft exhale, he settles himself atop Kouen's lap, knees set firmly to either side of his hips--and not without flushing, something that he can't blame on the heat no matter how he'd like to. Kouen's touch _really_ isn't far from Sinbad's; it's a little less refined, a little rougher at odd moments, but that's fine enough. "You're certain," he hedges, hooking a thumb back into his keffiyeh and tugging it off (carefully, but his hair is still rather tousled in the process), "that no one is going to… interrupt." 

 

Kouen swallows hard, looking up at Ja’far and sliding his hands up and down the smaller man’s back, daring to go lower and squeeze, pleasantly surprised at the softness there. “No one would dare.”

 

That’s all he can really manage before leaning up into the kiss again, mouth dry as he grips a slender waist, settling Ja’far firmly on his lap and ah, that doesn’t ease the tension so much as it turns it to burning heat, and every kiss is rougher, more urgent than the last.

 

This really _is_ asking for a scandal, and it's probably questionable that it makes his cock that much harder for that reason.

 

Ja'far is _glad_ for the kisses, the way they muffle his voice when he groans and wriggles forward, liking the squeeze of Kouen's big hands against his waist and lower still. His breath huffs out, ragged and hot between kisses as his hands lift up to slide back through the thick of Kouen's hair, twisting up through red strands to lightly _tug_ with the forward twitch of his hips, and the way his thighs splay wider still over Kouen's lap. 

 

There’s something unbelievably erotic about the quiet, the way there are no words, just the sounds of mouths meeting and hands dragging against fabric and harsh breaths being drawn, and Kouen hardens with every hitch of air. He fills his hands with soft flesh, and lets his hips rut up, hard and aching against the answering hardness of Ja’far’s cock. Just _feeling_ it there makes him grunt, and it’s more difficult than it should be to stop from _biting_ , keeping his teeth gentle if anything, squeezing just a bit too hard.

 

"… Not going to break," is the low, eventual husk of Ja'far's voice, and his own teeth nip into Kouen's lower lip as his hips grind down, eyes fluttering at the friction, the way he can feel how _hard_ Kouen is against him. He shifts, pawing a hand down the prince's robes, biting his own lip when his fingers catch on fastenings and tug them away. Ah, god, his blood is thrumming so hot that he thinks he might pass out--that has something to do with the heat, too, he's sure of it, but this isn't _helping_. "I'm not one of your Kou beauties, remember?" he quietly teases, and he hikes up his own robes just a bit more, letting them bunch up along his thighs rather than simply tangling long and annoying and in the way. 

 

A slow grin creases Kouen’s mouth, and he nods. “So much better.”

 

His robes are complicated, but he’s used to them, and they’re easy enough to part, pulling his hard cock free as his eyes go immediately to Ja’far’s, scooting the smaller man down so he can wrap a hand around the both of them, hissing at the contact. He grabs one of Ja’far’s hands, twining their fingers together as he pumps slowly, slicker and hotter with each slide, and he stifles a groan of pleasure against Ja’far’s own kiss-swollen lips.

 

Ja'far sucks in a ragged, halting breath through his nose, another, broken groan of his own strangled into the back of his throat. Kouen is so hard against him that it must _hurt_ , and his own cock isn't much better, pulsing with the slick, tight squeeze of their fingers, dripping messily when his hips jerk up into their grasp. _Everything_ is too hot, and Ja'far can feel his flush creeping all he way down to the back of his neck. His roll back when his hips rut up for just enough friction to make his cock _throb_ as he buries his face into the side of Kouen's neck, giving himself just enough of a window to look down and _see_. 

 

Kouen grunts something out--maybe a word, maybe a name, but he doubts it’s intelligible enough to be either--and leans down to bare Ja’far’s shoulder with a jerk of his teeth, sinking them into the soft, pale flesh there. Soft, pale, and _freckled_ , he notices, and bites sharply, hand moving faster now, almost a blur as he ruts into his own grip, feeling Ja’far do the same. “Come on,” he mutters, hardly able to breathe. That’s all he has time for before he comes, orgasm overtaking him with a loud groan buried in one shoulder, hand squeezing tight around them to milk him dry.

 

Ja'far _thinks_ he squeaks, maybe whines when Kouen's teeth sink into his skin--finally, _finally_ that little added edge that makes his breath catch hard and his hips shove forward in desperation. Feeling that slippery mess over his own fingers is more than enough, never mind _seeing it_ makes him swallow hard, makes his mouth dry as he ruts up with a groan o f his own, spilling hot and slick and messy between them, his body trembling as he sags forward, panting hard into the crook of Kouen's shoulder.

 

Kouen sags back in his seat, breathing heavy and labored, mindlessly fumbling for a handkerchief to wipe them both clean--well, _cleaner_. There’s really no hope for true clean in a carriage like this, and he finds that for once, he doesn’t even care. “I hope,” he says quietly, looking up to meet Ja’far’s eyes, blood still pulsing hot in his veins, “that having a small appeteizer doesn’t lessen your hunger for the feast.”

 

Managing something akin to a mumbling, hoarse sound of approval, Ja'far slowly manages to roll to the side, smoothing down his robes with shaky hands and letting his head loll back with a heavy, long huff of breath. "I can only hope that your palace is a bit cooler at night," he groans, "lest you wish to cause an international incident that causes me to die of heatstroke." 

 

“Before that, I’d call up servants to fan us,” Kouen assures him with almost a straight face. “Or have Judal freeze my chamber floors to keep the heat down.”

 

"God, he _does_ have a use after all. I'm amazed." Probably, he should bite his tongue. Unfortunately, that's a little beyond him right then.

 

Kouen laughs, though it makes him feel a bit guilty. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll pout and cry and not leave my bed for a week, he’s awfully needy about attention.”

 

"Pass," Ja'far mutters, throwing an arm over his face. "I have been avoiding him during my stay here for a reason, after all."

 

“I’m content to let you two ignore each other. So are his masters, so everyone wins.” Kouen wipes a handkerchief over Ja’far’s abdomen. “Tidy yourself up, we’re almost there. And….after dinner, my room?”

 

There are far _worse_ ways to spend his time. "After dinner," Ja'far agrees, gingerly snatching the handkerchief from Kouen's grasp to finish the job himself. Dousing himself in a cold bath might be worth it, all things considered. 

 

 

~~

 

Ja'far has to wonder what he's _thinking_ in all of this.

 

 _There's nothing wrong with enjoying myself_ , his mind firmly says, or at least tries to, in the thrum of uncertainty to follow. _Sinbad does it all the time. Sinbad would_ want _me to enjoy myself._

 

It isn't as if this has _anything_ to do with politics, after all. 

 

Dinner is uneventful, thankfully, and the palace a great deal cooler than the city proper. Ja'far does still take that moment to douse himself with cold water, feeling something like a snake that needs to shed his scales from this heat alone, and he makes a firm note in his mind to tell Sinbad he is _never_ vacationing here for longer than a few weeks--at least, not _this_ time of year. 

 

These are the things he tries to occupy his mind with when he stands awkwardly in front of Kouen's door, wavering between knocking or changing his mind or--ugh, _really_ , they already made a mess of themselves in a carriage, could this possibly be more inappropriate? 

 

The door, in the end, opens before Ja’far can raise his hand to the wood. Kouen stands not in his robes of state, but a simple dressing gown, hair loose around his shoulders (beard immaculately, _recently_ trimmed and brushed). He gives a tiny, appreciative smile, and opens the door further. “I heard your footsteps. I’ve been waiting. Please, come in.”

 

"My apologies for keeping you," Ja'far murmurs, a bow of his head following before he steps into the room, shrugging off (or attempting to) that anxiety with a last little inward shiver. "You were right, at least--the palace isn't anywhere as near hot as the Imperial City. I daresay I'll live another day and not succumb."

 

There’s little need for Kouen to admit that he’d called in a favor with one of the magicians of his acquaintance. Ja’far would probably only be embarrassed--or worse, be embarrassed for him. No need at all. “Your hardy nature does you well. I’m sorry, I’ve no wine to offer you, but if you want spirits, I have some small amount on the shelf. Or tea? Iced, or hot.”

 

"Just tea is fine--definitely iced." Ja'far lets his gaze roam about the room a bit more this time, less concerned about poise and appearances when this is far less a political butting of heads. "… When your uncle died, and you were made next in line to the throne after your father," he slowly says, barely resisting the urge to reach out and run his thumb over the nearest sword hanging from the wall, just to test its sharpness. Morbid curiosity, at its best. "That must have been very difficult. Few princes that I have met could cope with such a change in responsibility." 

 

Kouen’s smile thins. He remembers that day, his father coming to wake him in the middle of the night to tell him the _good news_ , seeing a pale arm snake around his waist, and a red-lipped smile brush against his father’s neck. “Not many princes could have seen it coming,” he says softly.

 

Ja'far's eyes lid, his head tilting as he glances back to Kouen. It really is a _shame_ that Al-Sarmen's presence looms so heavily over this country, and what that inevitably means, should it continue. "It's less that, more in how one deals with it afterwards. Regardless of some… influences here, Prince, you should feel proud of your work in this country. My reports back to Sindria will reflect little but that." 

 

Kouen lets a hand rest on Ja’far’s shoulders. “And my gratitude to your King for your presence will be most emphatic.”

 

He lets his hand trail down, brushing over the clean simple cloth of one arm, to grasp and squeeze one pale hand. “Do you really want to speak of politics and influences this night?”

 

"… It's something of a habit, forgive me," Ja'far wryly replies, his eyes drifting down to their hands and how small his own looks within that grasp. Nothing new there, he supposes. "I warned you, I am not the most thrilling of bed partners." 

 

“Partners reflect each other,” Kouen says with a raised eyebrow, his other hand snaking around Ja’far’s waist to pull him close. “Perhaps I’ve given you nothing to thrill about yet.”

 

A hard swallow, and Ja'far finds himself all too content to lend himself to that pull, a hand of his own sliding up to rest against the man's chest. Kouen is _solid_ , and if he's not mistaken, a bit taller than _Sinbad_ , even. "That," Ja'far manages, "I doubt." 

 

It isn’t polite, or terribly politic, or even well-advised, but the warm pressure of one small, gentle hand is enough to make Kouen lose his cool. He moves, until Ja’far’s back is pressed against the nearest wall, the bulk of Kouen’s body crushing him there, mouth hot and eager on his with a low groan of urgency. “Open to me,” he whispers, hands tight in Ja’far’s robes.

 

That _shouldn't_ rile him so quickly, or so thoroughly.

 

There's no helping the sudden southward rush of blood or the way his back arches with a groan of his own as his hands scrabble up to Kouen's shoulders, eager to grab and scratch and pull him down as Ja'far lurches up onto tiptoe for better leverage in their kisses. Ja'far shudders, biting down onto Kouen's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth as he drags a hand down that broad, strong back, fisting shaking fingers into his robe and using that as _some_ sort of grounding point when his mind already seems content to swim. 

 

Ja’far is smaller than most of the women Kouen beds, and that probably shouldn’t make him as hard as it does.

 

His hands are rough and strong, grabbing Ja’far around the waist and hoisting him into the air, pressing him back against the wall from thigh to head, kissing him hard, taking every advantage of the fact that there’s nowhere else for Ja’far to _go_. His kisses are intent, focused on _taking_ , and one long strong thigh slides up between Ja’far’s, a pleased little growl coming from his throat. “You don’t seem boring to me.”

 

Ja'far shudders hard, sucking in sharp, ragged breaths when he can, most lost between kisses and caught in his throat when Kouen presses against him, an unyielding, solid weight pinning him back into the wall, trapping him there and making him feel as weak and helpless as he ever has. It's rarely a feeling Ja'far relishes, but now, when he can do little but _squirm_ , arching with a groan to rut against the thigh that slides between his legs--god, it's _good_. "I'm glad, then," he gasps out, squirming to wind his legs about Kouen's waist, thighs pressing tight and quivering to the other man's hips. Just fitting Kouen between his legs like this is a bit of an effort, makes his legs splay like a harlot at best, and that makes his cock _throb_.

 

Kouen pulls back just enough to watch that freckled face flush in eagerness, a sight that only makes him want _more_. He moves his hips in a slow, steady cant, watching Ja’far’s expression change, hungrier, legs clutching tighter at every motion, and lets out a pleased little noise, rumbling deep in his chest. 

 

He dips his mouth down, nipping at an ear, then down to Ja’far’s neck, and it makes his cock swell to see the bruises left over from the carriage. “Will you let me take you, the way a man takes his prize?”

 

A ragged, breathless laugh escapes at that. "So I'm a prize now?" Ja'far sort of hates how unsteady his voice is, rough at the edges when Kouen's teeth nip into his skin, and he shivers, squirming to wriggle a hand down between them, his grab for Kouen's cock sloppy at best. "Amazed you didn't just do it already," he mumbles, face flushing darker. "Just--hurry." 

 

Kouen pulls back for only a moment, swiping at a bottle of oil on the desk that he swears he hadn’t left there, thanking everything he believes in for helpful unintrusive servants. He hikes up Ja’far’s robes, letting his own fall to the floor, revealing the lack of anything underneath, and sucks, nips, bites at one pale shoulder. “I--may not be gentle,” he warns, in the second before he slicks his cock and slides in _hard_.

 

Ja'far _wants_ to tell him that's fine, it's better that way, honestly, because dragging it out and being _careful_ only goes so far before he loses his mind--

 

But the words get stuck in his throat, and Ja'far can only groan, ragged and helpless as he sags back into the wall, chest heaving and body a trembling, spasming thing. 

 

Kouen's cock is _thick_ , stretching and spreading him wide, making him whine low in his throat as he shudders and clenches around that aching stretch, made a dozen times worse (or better?) by the fact the other man is so _hard_. Like this, with tension already twitching up through his form, it's difficult to just _take him_ , and the edge of that is sort of nice, no matter how Ja'far pants and moans and twists like it hurts, like he wants _away_. "Good--good, j-just--just fuck me--"

 

Kouen’s never been much for slow and gentle, even if sometimes (secretly, quietly) he thinks it sounds sort of nice. That isn’t what makes his blood sing, and it’s no part of what he gives Ja’far now, slamming in deep and rough and _savage_ , claiming the smaller man like a prize, like _prey_. There’s something about this man that he never finds in men, something that makes his heart thud, his eyes fix on that writhing, hungry form. Each thrust is harder, deeper, faster than the last until all he can hear is the slap-slap-slap of their hips together with every brutal thrust.

 

One hand starts to steal upward, but he stops himself, braces it on Ja’far’s chest instead, thumbing hard over a nipple. “Make you _feel_ it,” he grunts, hands bruisingly tight.

 

Ja'far normally doesn't like feeling this _lost_ , but right now, it's a good thing.

 

His mind clicks off and he nods, thoughtless as one hand grabs and pulls at Kouen's, fingers trembling as his body twitches and squirms, trying for the leverage he needs to grind down, to take _all_ of Kouen's cock inside of himself when he thrusts especially hard or deep. That slick, white-hot slide is almost secondary to the hold on Kouen's hand however, and Ja'far drags those fingers to his lips first, a breathless, sloppy kiss pressed to the palm of Kouen's hand before Ja'far simply lays it against his throat. 

 

Normally, Kouen is better at _behaving_ himself.

 

He’s better at treating lovers like lovers and slaves like whores, keeping them properly separate and knowing when to _behave_. 

 

Now, his hand rests on the chief advisor to the King of Sindria’s throat, and he hears the blood pounding in his own ears louder than anything.

 

His hips slam in deep with every breath, setting a grueling pace, and slowly, eyes on Ja’far’s face, tightens his hand.

 

Instinct tells him to thrash, tells him to fight and claw at Kouen's hand, but _he's_ the one that put it there, gave permission, and Ja'far's cock is all the harder for it. 

 

His eyes roll back with the first squeeze of it, timed so that his chest heaves and his body _aches_ when Kouen's cock slides in so deep at the same time that Ja'far thinks he can nearly _taste it_. The arch of his back makes his muscles nearly cramp, his legs quivering and fingers clinging tightly to Kouen's wrist, a ragged, rasping whine pulled from his throat. 

 

There’s nothing Kouen’s ever felt that compares to the way Ja’far feels thrashing around him.

 

It’s good enough that Kouen’s breath catches, and he squeezes almost too hard, knowing how much is _enough_ , always, always wondering what it would be like, just once, to feel that lithe body go limp, to see the thrashing give way to stillness, the panic to peace.

 

Even the thought of it is enough, and his voice is breathy and hoarse as he shouts, spilling deep inside Ja’far, slamming in and burying himself to the hilt when he comes, hand still tight, eyes glazed and narrowed, locked on Ja’far’s struggling figure.

 

 _Gravity_ , when he feels this weak, this helpless, is a merciless thing.

 

Kouen is so deep inside of him that Ja'far can feel his body _twinge_ , an aching protest that vibrates all the way down to his toes. It isn't something he can get away from, not like _this_ , not pinned against the wall with his legs clinging to that strong waist and all of his own weight slinking down to squirm on every inch of him. It feels all the more sharp in Ja'far's mind when he can scarcely breathe, his breath a short, desperate thing that he barely sucks into his lungs, with his nails biting into Kouen's wrist and his lips parted for each harsh gasp before he's finally, gratefully _lost_ , coming with a broken, strangled sound in one messy, trembling upward lurch. 

 

Kouen loosens his hand, finally (reluctantly), but doesn’t remove it, holding Ja’far in place until he stops twitching. He breathes, deep and steady, and slowly drops his hands, lifting Ja’far by the waist, up and off of his softening cock. “You’re as limp as a cloth doll.”

 

To prove it, Ja'far's head lolls forward, flopping over Kouen's shoulder as his arms soon follow suit with as much strength as he can muster. "And whose fault is that?" he rasps out, voice _decidedly_ damaged after all of that. 

 

Hearing Ja’far’s voice sound like that probably shouldn’t make Kouen’s cock twitch. “I’ll take responsibility,” he agrees, and tosses Ja’far gently onto the bed, following him up with a sigh. “Are you always like that?”

 

"Like what?" Ja'far mumbles, mind still too glazed to think of little but stretching out, and ah, thank god Kouen has a very comfortable bed. 

 

“Like perfect,” Kouen mutters before his mind can check the words, and he rolls over onto his belly, muffling anything else he feels inclined to say. “Didn’t mean it weird. Just good sex.”

 

"Oh." Ja'far slowly rolls over in kind. Kouen has the right idea--shoving one's face down into a pillow is a good way to avoid a dozen awkward conversations after sex. "I'm not perfect. But I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." 

 

Kouen starts to get up, then flops back down. “I hope you won’t hate me when I get up in an hour to clean. Once I have the energy.”

 

"… Why would I hate you? Cleaning is good. One can't expect to go to _sleep_ like this." Never mind that Sinbad certainly does that all the time.

 

“Not at all. Sticky, and sweaty, and...my beard is a mess.” The last comes out a little forlorn. That’s the problem with kisses.

 

Ja'far slowly turns his head to _look_ at the other man, vaguely amused. " _That's_ what you're worried about?" 

 

Kouen turns, flopping his head around to look at Ja’far, raising an eyebrow. “No one’s just filled _me_ up with spunk. It’s got to be worse for you. How do you get it out, anyway?”

 

"… A word of advice, Prince Kouen: phrasing things like that? Not attractive." Ja'far prides himself on not hitting the man on reflex alone. That would probably be bad for relations. "Besides," he adds on a cross mutter, his face promptly going back down into a pillow, "it's far from a _bad_ feeling." 

 

“Mmm.” Kouen nods, a little smile on his face. “I’ll take your word for it. My apologies. You wear it well, if anything.”

 

"Glad to hear you think so," is the sigh to follow, and Ja'far slowly, stiffly rolls to the side. "And I'm sure you think the bruises look nice, too." 

 

Kouen swallows, looking at the forming little indentations, right now no more than shadows, and _knowing_ how they’ll darken. “I do,” he says softly, reaching a hand out to brush along one small set. “I’d….I’d like to see them more often. If you wanted.”

 

Ja'far shivers, his eyes lidding to follow the slide of Kouen's hand. "I am sure while I am still here," he slowly replies, "there will be time still to enjoy your company." 

 

Kouen nods. “Will….” Ah, he shouldn’t be feeling like a schoolboy, shy and awkward and wanting so badly. “Will you mind if, while you’re still here, I try and persuade you to stay?”

 

Of course it would come to this. Ja'far heaves a sigh, frowning a bit as he reaches a hand back to loosen his obi and properly squirm his way out of his clinging robes once and for all. "Your Majesty… while you have a lovely country, and are a great man yourself, my place is hardly here. You would grow tired of me in time, too, I assure you. My tongue is a bit too sharp for Kou's tastes."

 

Kouen reaches back, giving a helpful (possibly) tug. “I’m saying nothing now. Just asking your leave to keep asking. I find I enjoy your company. Believe me, if I tire of you, you’ll be the first to know.”

 

"Reassuring," Ja'far dryly retorts, and he wriggles free of his robes once and for all, letting them slink off of his shoulders entirely. "You can ask all you want, but I fear my answer will always be the same."

 

“No fear necessary.” Kouen trails a finger along a freckled shoulder--so different from his own and Mei’s. “I’m a grown man. My ego can handle refusals.” He really, really hopes he isn’t wrong about that. He’d hate to think he was _that_ sort of person, after all.

 

Ja'far's lips twist, vaguely amused. "Even _more_ reassuring. Ask away then, Prince Kouen, but let's at least do it within a pleasantly warm bath." 

 

 

~~

 

Truthfully, Kou _is_ a good country.

 

Kouen would probably blanch to hear his opinion a dozen things--and not least among them, that it would probably be better to hire an assassin to rid himself of some of his greater issues and better sway his father's hand in things--but perhaps later, when a few more pieces move into place, Ja'far will actually be able to say such things without the prince's face going so dark and his ears obviously shut to every word. 

 

Until then, there's no reason to think Sindria might have something of a good influence on the Kou Empire… assuming staying friendly with _Kouen_ remains an option. 

 

When the prince is there to personally see him off, Ja'far supposes he's done his job well. Sinbad will be glad to hear that--perhaps less glad of the love bites he comes home with, but there are worse things to be jealous about. "Should the Kou Empire extend another invitation toward Sindria, I will gladly come again, Your Majesty," Ja'far says, bowing low. "I daresay your brother might appreciate my company in the archives again as well." 

 

Kouen gives Ja’far a bow in return, maybe a bit lower even than is proper for the situation. “I don’t suppose,” he says softly, “if I extended you another right now, I could stop you from leaving in the first place?”

 

Ja'far straightens with a smile, even as he shakes his head. "You flatter me and are very generous, Prince Kouen. Unfortunately, I can only imagine the mess that Sindria's own archives are in right now, and I daresay my king would be worried, if I stayed for any longer. Besides, remember what I said about you getting tired of me? That will happen soon, at this rate." 

 

“While I doubt that very much,” Kouen allows, “I can see easily why he wouldn’t want to let you go. Consider the offer open.” He hesitates, then steps slightly closer, though not so much as to be impolite in front of the watchers. “And….from time to time, when it’s convenient, say you’ll think of me.”

 

"… Said as if I will never set foot on your shores again." Ja'far's eyes lid, and for a moment, he rather wishes Kouen was as rash as Sinbad, who would have undoubtedly grabbed him by the waist by now and kissed him properly. Ah, well. There are advantages and disadvantages to both (mostly disadvantages). "Keep sending invitations, and I will think of you often when I am dealing with my king's mail."

 

“I suppose that will have to do.” Kouen pulls something out of his pocket, handing over a small box. “Here, this is something my grandmother used to give me on long voyages. Rub a bit on your gums and it’ll keep your stomach from rebelling on the boat.” He smiles thinly. “Now go, before I decide I’d rather risk your king’s wrath by keeping you.”

 

"I _would_ feel rather guilty if I started a war between our respective countries," Ja'far murmurs, palming the box before tucking it away into his robes. "Thank you. I'm sure," he adds, turning and tossing Kouen a last, faint smile, "we will have a chance to speak again." 

 

“If the gods are kind,” Kouen adds, with a faint, sad smile. It isn’t the first time he’s parted with someone he hasn’t wanted to. Sometimes, another time doesn’t happen. “Safe journey, advisor. May the wind bring you quickly home, so I may steal you quickly back again.”

 

That _phrasing_ , though. Ja'far heaves a little sigh, his smile turning wry. "And may your country stay in one piece, so that I have somewhere to _visit_ once more." 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
